The Malady in Maderia

by Ann Bridge

  “I don’t believe I have thought a lot about it—no” she said, with an attempt at candour.

  “Well, you ought to, or you will ruin your life, and your husband’s too.”

  “How do I begin?” she asked.

  “Think!” he said pleasantly. Then, as she was silent—“Do you remember what I said just now about the only way to be either good or happy, in this unequal world?”

  “Not to be jealous of people who’ve got things that I haven’t” she muttered, rather unwillingly.

  “Yes. But you aren’t doing that, are you? Are you not very jealous of Mrs. Jamieson, for one?”

  “Well, I didn’t see why she should do all the driving—I can drive cars perfectly well. I’ve been kept out of everything Colin was doing, since he came here!—although it was I who had the idea of sending for him” the girl burst out bitterly.

  “Mrs. Jamieson gives you full marks for that. But my dear child” the old man said, leaning towards her with a benevolent earnestness, “can’t you see that in intelligence and character Mrs. Jamieson is an absolute millionairess compared with you?—as well as having years of experience in this work? That is a fact you must accept—it is so.” He watched her face; no, she hadn’t accepted it. “That’s a bitter pill” he said. “Chew on it; taste it and swallow it. Once you have swallowed it, accepted it, the bitter taste will go gradually.”

  Aglaia remained silent, looking down. He decided to try another tack for the moment.

  “I’m going to tell you a story—a true one” he said. “In the last war I was a doctor with the Highland Division, and a lot of us were taken prisoner by the Germans and put in one of those prison-camps. Some of us decided to escape.”

  She looked up. “Did you dig a tunnel, like in that film?” she asked. Her relief at escaping for a moment from the pressure he had been putting on her was evident.

  “Just so; we dug a tunnel. But we knew that after we got out we should have to walk nearly two hundred miles through Germany, talking German, before we reached the frontier.”

  “Do you talk German?”

  “I did then, pretty well. Well enough to pretend that I was Swiss—and so did five or six of the other officers. And we were all strong men, and good walkers. My best friend was in the same camp with me—the best friend I ever had. He was desperate to escape; he was newly married, and his wife was rather ill. He longed to come.”

  “And did he?” she asked eagerly.

  “No. He was still a little lame from a leg-wound he’d got in France; and besides he didn’t speak German. We couldn’t risk taking him. But I think telling him that we couldn’t was one of the hardest things I ever had to do in my life.”

  “When did he get out?” Aglaia asked.

  “Not for five years.”

  “Oh, how awful! And did his wife get better?”

  “Yes, thank God; and she waited faithfully for him, which was more than some of those war-time wives did! But how do you suppose he passed those five years?” Doctor Urquhart asked, bending his eyes on her from under his grizzled brows.

  “Well, worrying, I suppose; it must have been frightful for him.”

  “He spent them keeping the camp laughing and cheerful” the doctor said. “He was a bit musical, sang quite nicely, and he had a big repertory of songs by heart; he was a bit of a comic, too, and could take people off. Numbers of the ones who were there all through the war have told me they thought they owed their reason to Jock Cameron and the turns he put on in the evenings.” He got up. “Come on” he said. “I’ll take you back now.”

  Aglaia was silent throughout the short run back in the car, and the doctor didn’t interrupt her silence. At the Shergolds he said —“I’ll be in to see you tomorrow morning. Tell Mrs. Shergold you can come down to meals now; but go to bed early, and go on with your pills.”

  “I will—thank you very much.” She lingered by the car, fiddling with the door-handle. “I’ll try to remember that I’m lame, and can’t speak German” she said suddenly, and ran into the house.

  As Dr. Urquhart was turning his car on the broad stretch of gravel Julia and her little son appeared from the garden; she waved, and went over to him—the doctor stopped his engine.

  “How did it go?” she asked at once—“If I may know, I mean.”

  “Rather better than I expected” he said. “I gave her what I believe the Irish call ’the length and breadth of my tongue’, and she took it reasonably well. I have told her that she may come down to meals, and lead a normal life.”

  “When can she go back to the Armitages?”

  “Oh, any time now.”

  “Good. I think that might be a good plan; after all, it’s where she belongs” Julia said—the old man gave her a keen look, but said nothing. “And how soon can her husband see her?”

  “Also any time, provided he takes everything absolutely normally —no going over what’s happened, or that” the doctor said. “At least not at first.”

  “Oh well, the job’s finished, so he can give all his time to her” Julia said cheerfully, “till he goes back to London.”

  “Aye. But he told me he would not be going back for a week or two; they could do worse than start trying to live together on new and better terms” the old man said.

  “Oh fine. Do you want to see him again?”

  “No need. Just tell him that, from me—you’ll be seeing him, I take it?”

  “Yes, this afternoon, I expect.”

  “Thanks—then you’ll do that. Make everything norrmal” the old Scotsman said, rolling his R’s, as he drove away.

  Julia took the child in—he was due for his early dinner with the other two little ones. In the hall she came on Aglaia, lingering doubtfully. “Are you looking for Pauline? I think she’s out” Julia said.

  “Yes—I wanted to tell her I can come down to meals now.”

  “I’ll tell the maids—and Nannie. I’m so glad you’re better. Come through and have a drink with Mrs. Hathaway” Julia said, and led her out onto the verandah, where the old lady sat reading The Times. Then she went through and told the maids that the Senhora Monro would be downstairs for luncheon and dinner; she passed on this information to Nannie Mack when she took small Philip upstairs.

  “Well, that’s an improvement” Nannie said. “Yes—go into the bathroom and try to wash your own hands, like a clever boy” she said to the child—“Little pitchers have long ears” she added to his Mother. “Did she see the doctor?” she asked then.

  “Yes. He thinks she’ll be all right now; I expect she’ll be going home soon.”

  “Well, I hope she’ll keep on with her knitting—she’s made quite a good start” Nannie said. “She needs something to do; that’s as much what’s wrong with her as anything, in my opinion —nothing to do but think about herself.”

  Julia managed to catch Pauline Shergold before she went out onto the verandah for drinks, and told her that Aglaia would be down to luncheon, and what Dr. Urquhart had said about keeping everything normal—“Don’t ask her how she feels, or anything” she said.

  “When does she go back to the Quinta?” Mrs. Shergold asked, throwing off her hat.

  “I’m going to see Terence about that this afternoon—tomorrow, I should think. Of course I’ll let you know at once.”

  “I wish we’d seen more of Colin” Pauline said. “He’s a charmer.”

  “I dare say you will, now” Julia said easily.

  “Why, is this mystery job finished?”

  “Yes, practically, as far as Madeira is concerned.”

  “Julia, what has been going on?”

  “Pauline, I wish I could tell you, because you’ve been so frightfully kind—to Mrs. H., and me, and Ag—but you know I can’t.”

  “I don’t know. You aren’t in the Secret Service! Or are you?” she asked, with sudden suspicion. Julia gave her slow laugh.

  “No—only rather closely related to it!” she said. “Come on— I’m dying for a drink.”


  Julia drove down to Funchal the moment after lunch, and went straight to the Shipping Office; Terence Armitage was in, and she was shown up to his room.

  “How’s Ag?” he asked at once.

  “Much better—back to daily life. She had a long session with the old Doc this morning.”

  “So she can come back to us, now?”

  “Yes, rather. Only he thought she and Colin ought to start trying to live together as soon as possible.”

  “Well, they can do that at the Quinta; it’s always his home when he comes here, he knows that. They have their own rooms, sitting-room and all—it’s only that we all eat together.”

  “Sounds perfect” Julia said—and again added what Dr. Urquhart had insisted on about everything being kept normal.

  “I’ll tell Penel. Did you hear whether he had given her the works?”

  “I gathered so, from what he said; of course I haven’t said anything to her. Oh, by the way, do you know whether the wretched da Silva ever got paid?” Julia asked.

  “For the Spanish thugs’ bill, and the hire of the car? Yes, he did; that Portuguese Major found masses of escudos when he was clearing out their room, and settled the bill before he left the hotel. Da Silva came round to tell me.”

  “Good. Talking of hiring cars, or rather not hiring but borrowing cars, hadn’t you better have yours back now?”

  “Don’t you need it any more?”

  “No, I only wanted it to cart Colin and Sir Percy about, and to get to and from my bed and breakfast; now I shall be staying put at the Shergolds’. I’m so grateful for it, though—it’s been an absolute boon, and to them too.”

  “When do you want to turn it in?” he asked.

  “Well, I want to see Colin now at the clinic, and I thought he could drive me up to the Serra, and perhaps bring Aglaia down to you in it tomorrow—if that’s all right by Penel”.

  “I’ll fix that with her, and ring you up tonight.”

  “No, don’t.” As he looked at her in surprise—“I don’t mean that, exactly” Julia said. “I mean, I think it would be better if Penelope rang up Aglaia herself, and asked when she was coming back?—and if Colin couldn’t come too?—and how nice it would be, and so on. After all that door-locking nonsense, I mean.”

  He smiled on her with much affection.

  “As usual, you are perfectly and blessedly right. All part of what that American President called ’normalcy’, only with a few shining knobs on! It shall be done that way.”

  At the clinic Julia asked for Colin. She was standing in the hall while the girl telephoned up to his room when Dr. de Carvalho emerged from his consulting-room.

  “Ah, bonjour, Madame! Can you spare me two instants?” he asked.

  “He is not there—there is no reply” the telephonist said at the same time.

  “Yes, certainly” Julia said, and followed the doctor into his room.

  “How is Madame Monro?” he asked, pulling forward a chair; seeing the surprise in her face—“Your cousin has told me something of his difficulties in his marriage” he added. “And I am concerned on his account.”

  “So am I” Julia said, sitting down. “At least, I have been. But Dr. Urquhart has had a long talk with her—she is quite normal again now—and he has seen my cousin too. He thinks they should settle down together and make a fresh start—I’ve come to give my cousin that message. Do you agree?”

  “Start here?—in Madeira?”

  “Yes, at the Armitages’ Quinta. They’ve often stayed there before.”

  “Yes, I do agree” he said. “But what do you think of his plan of working in London for a year or more?”

  “I—I’m not sure.” Julia was startled; this was the first she had heard of any such plan. “I expect it would be a good idea, for her” she said thoughtfully. “Rather a waste of him, perhaps.”

  “Why a waste?”

  “Oh well, his languages are his strong suit; I can’t imagine him doing desk-work! But if his superiors can find a job there for him, and they approve, it might be a good plan. He’s got plenty of time ahead of him.”

  “Good.” But Dr. de Carvalho had another surprise for Julia. “And you?—What do you propose to do with yourself now?” he asked earnestly, leaning over the desk towards her.

  “I? But bring up my little child, of course” she said, with a smile—she was as much embarrassed as surprised by this sudden initiative.

  “Madame, to concentrate your powers on one infant will be as bad for him as it would be inappropriate for you” the Portuguese said, firmly. “You talk of waste!—but this is absurd!”

  “What do you suggest, then?” she asked, now amused at his enterprise.

  “But that you work regularly, professionally, for British Intelligence! Earn a salary, but far more important, have an occupation, an involvement, which will keep you happy, busy, and protect your child from that terribly dangerous thing, maternal over-concentration!”

  She stared at him, now deeply astonished, and also touched.

  “Perhaps you’ve got something there” she said slowly, after a pause. “I hadn’t thought of it in that way.” She smiled again. “People are always saying that” she added.

  “That you should be regularly employed by British Intelligence? What sort of people?”

  “Oh, my friends—some of them in Intelligence themselves” she said, with her slow laugh.

  “Then why not do it? They must realise your capabilities” he pressed her.

  “I’ll think about it” she said, getting up. “Thank you very much for your advice—it is good of you to think of it—of us both.” As he too rose—“And now, how can I find my cousin?”

  Colin was in the garden-house. While he was driving her up to the Serra she told him the upshot of her talks with Dr. Urquhart and Terence, stressing the importance of “normalcy”—she quoted Terence’s use of the ridiculous word—and how Penelope Armitage was to do the inviting.

  “Yes, that’s the best way” he agreed. “And that being so, I think I won’t come in this evening, or Ag may suspect that it’s all been arranged beforehand. No, I’m not funking it” he said, as Julia looked at him questioningly. “Just make sure that she lets me know tonight, when Penel has spoken to her.”

  “But she hasn’t got your telephone number” Julia reminded him.

  “Oh ah, nor she has! How do we get round that one?”

  “Can’t you go into the Golf Club and write a note on blank paper, and send it round by a boy, giving the address and number of the clinic, and telling her to give you a ring?”

  “I’ll do that thing. Bless you, J. dear. And when I hear from her I’ll ring Hartley and tell him where I shall be, and ask him to pass the Quinta number on to Marques.” He began to giggle. “And this time I really will drop you at the gate!”

  This small intrigue was successfully carried out, and the following morning Colin came in very breezily, kissed his wife as gaily as if he had seen her only the day before, hullo’d Julia and Pauline, threw the luggage into the car, and drove Aglaia away.

  “Well, I hope that goes all right” Pauline Shergold said, waving from the steps. “She seemed much nicer last night, poor little thing.”

  After this life at the Shergolds’ resumed its old gentle tempo—walks with Pauline, playing with the children, prolonged chats with Mrs. Hathaway. But some days after Colin had taken Aglaia back to the Quinta the telephone rang, and Mrs. Jamieson was summoned to it by a hail from Pauline—“Julia! It’s for you.” She hurried in from the verandah—“Take it in the study; Elvira’s Hoovering out here” her hostess said. Julia went in to Gerald’s study, expecting to hear Colin’s voice, but it was Dr. de Carvalho. “C’est bien Madame Jamieson? A message from the Colonel— de toute urgence! He has tried to ring your cousin at the other number he gave, but he is out—so he calls me. Les experts arrivent ce soir.”

  “What experts?” For once Julia’s ready memory failed her.

  “But to examine the
sheep! The Colonel said he would send them— c’est idiot, but he has this idea!”

  “Ah yes, I remember. Tonight, you say?”

  “Yes. So will Madame please make all the arrangements, since the cousin is not available? I disinterest myself from this nonsense, I!”

  “Where are they staying?” Julia asked.

  “Wherever Madame chooses to put them! These I do not accommodate as patients!” the doctor said sharply.

  “Of course not.” Julia began to laugh. “I’ll send them to the Montefiore!” she said. “Did the Colonel give their names?— hold on, I’ll write them down.” She went over to Gerald’s desk and fetched a pencil and pad. “The Senhor Doctor Francisco Figueiredo, and the Senhor Ingenheiro Lopes” she wrote down. “Are they coming on the plane? All right, I’ll see to it.”

  “There is also a parcel arrived for Madame,” de Carvalho said.

  “Oh, could you keep it? I will ask Monsieur Shergold to call for it.”

  “Très bien.” He rang off.

  Julia went out into the hall. Pauline Shergold was still there; Elvira had finished Hoovering the rugs and was polishing the floor.

  “May I ring up Terence?” Julia asked.

  “Yes, of course. Do it in the study again—this thing shishes so.”

  When Julia got Terence she explained what was going on. “The Colonel tried for Colin, but he’s out. So I said I would see to it—but really I’m afraid I want you to.”

  “Quite like old times!” Terence said. “All right—give me their names.” Julia spelt them out—“Though why an engineer should know about sheep’s diseases I can’t think.”

  “Half the men in Portugal are ingenheiros—it covers a multitude of scientific skills” Terence said.

  “Oh well. Can they go to the Montefiore? I thought that would cheer da Silva up.”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “And can you have them met?”

  “Yes, of course—da Silva can send one of his cars. There’s no secret about these people, I take it?”

  “I suppose not. Oh, and the hammock-men, Terence—they’ll need those; can you get them for tomorrow?”